


Not All Birds

by Wynn



Series: Not All Birds [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: And ogling, Clint Barton's Farm, Humor, Multi, Possibly evil chickens, Prompt Fic, Sexual Tension, with some feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 01:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3310001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynn/pseuds/Wynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You fought a bear before, didn’t you? You should have no problem against a chicken.”</p><p>“Bears don’t fly.”</p><p>“Neither do chickens.”</p><p>“Of course they do. They’re birds. Birds fly.”</p><p>“Penguins don’t. Ostriches don’t. And they’re birds. Not all birds fly.”</p><p>-<br/>Or the one where Clint invites Darcy and Bucky to his farm and they face off against a possibly evil chicken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not All Birds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bulmaveg_Otaku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bulmaveg_Otaku/gifts).



> My first OT3. Thanks to bulmavegotaku for the prompt, which I did not add originally (shakes head at absentminded brain): the prompt was "You can't protect me." I hope you enjoy. :D
> 
> I do not own the characters used in the following story. They are owned by Marvel and are being used for non-profit, entertainment purposes only.

Not All Birds

-

“You can’t protect me. Not against this. It’s not right. I’m the one who got us into this mess. So I’m the one who should— Jesus _Christ_!”

Abandoning all notions of modern feminist principles as well as a good chunk of her self-respect, Darcy ducks behind Bucky as the chicken darts toward them. She had just wanted to see one. She’d grown up in Philadelphia after all. The only chickens in the vicinity had been on television or in vacuum-sealed packages at the grocery store. So of course she had jumped at the chance to fulfill her childhood desire when Clint invited her and Bucky to his farm. She hadn’t told Clint about her wish though. She’d never live it down. Not from him. But Bucky understood the allure, having grown up in New York where, like her in Philly, the only birds he regularly encountered had been pigeons of the mutant city variety. So when Kate called to give Clint the update on the Tracksuit Mafia, Darcy had seized Bucky by the hand and dragged him outside to, she realizes now, their unfortunate demise. 

They stand trapped, barn wall behind them, nefarious chicken before them. Darcy spots more of its evil brethren in the fenced enclosure beyond. A few turn their heads toward Darcy and Bucky, and she knows they needed to act quickly before reinforcements arrived, or before Clint found them huddling against his barn like a couple of hyperventilating rabbits and acquired blackmail material to use against them for the rest of their lives.

“Do something,” she hisses, poking Bucky in the back.

“Like what?” He stands before her, right arm directed behind him to shield her from the chicken while his left extended toward the chicken itself to block its approach. If they survived this, she intended to thank him for his chivalry and potential sacrifice with some making out and mutual groping.

“I don’t know,” she says now. “Something. You fought a bear before, didn’t you? You should have no problem against a chicken.”

“Bears don’t fly.”

“Neither do chickens.”

“Of course they do. They’re birds. Birds fly.”

“Penguins don’t. Ostriches don’t. And they’re birds. Not all birds fly.”

They look at the chicken, as if waiting for it to confirm or deny its power of flight. All it does is cock its head to the side and regard them quietly a few seconds before emitting this little huffing coo that makes Darcy frown.

“Is it… laughing at us?”

Bucky studies the chicken a moment before murmuring, “I think so.”

“Which clearly proves that it’s evil because only evil things laugh at other people’s distress. As the resident evil-fighter here, you need to fight that feathered beast by beating it to a tiny pulp.”

Bucky sighs. If his arms weren’t currently engaged in warding off the bird and keeping her safe, he’d likely be pinching the bridge of his nose. “Darcy, I’m not killing Clint’s bird. That’s not exactly going to set the mood for romance this weekend.”

“And our horrible bloody deaths will?”

“Well, no…” Bucky concedes.

“So kill it,” Darcy says, poking him again. 

Bucky temporarily revokes his right arm from its protective stance to wave it about. “How? With what?”

“Your _gun_ , duh. You brought, like, seven of them, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah…”

“So blast it between its beady eyes.”

Bucky says nothing. He does nothing. No gun is produced from any of his usual hiding places, nor are any of his knives or other weapons that he wears strapped to his body except when she and Clint have him naked and moaning. As the seconds pass, Darcy starts to wonder if this reticence is some residual assassin guilt, if Hydra perhaps had sent him on a chicken mission in his prior existence, then Bucky squirms, just a fraction, and she realizes the truth.

“You left them in the house, didn’t you?” 

“…yes.”

Darcy closes her eyes at the confirmation of her unfortunate suspicions. Then she opens them so she can poke him in the back of his head. “Dude.”

“I know.”

“ _Dude_.”

“I _know_. I have absolutely no grounds to ever lecture you again about leaving the Tower without a weapon, okay? But I _had_ to. Clint said I could bring them, but he wants me to leave them in my bag while we’re here. He thinks I need to relax.”

Darcy feels her heart twist at the admission. Closing the scant distance between them, she wraps her arms around his waist and gathers him into a hug. “You do. You give Mad-Eye Moody a run for his money in the ‘constant vigilance’ department.”

She feels him tense within her arms. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize. At all.” She places a kiss on his right shoulder blade and nuzzles her face into his back. “You want to keep us safe. We get it. We just want you to be happy.”

Bucky lays his hand over hers and gives it a squeeze. “I am. Well, not at this particular moment,” he amends, glancing at the chicken again. “But usually. More than I deserve to be.” 

“I disagree.”

“I do, too.”

Both Darcy and Bucky look up to find Clint perched at the edge of the loft door, cowboy hat in hand, peering down at them with equal parts love and asshole delight in his gaze. Darcy narrows her eyes at him, but it’s Bucky who beats her to the indignant punch.

“How long?”

Clint’s smile widens. It wasn’t often, even with his super spy skills, that he could get the drop on Bucky. “From bears don’t fly.”

Darcy’s jaw drops. “What?!”

“How?” Bucky demands.

“Tunnel from the house.” 

They stare at each other a moment, communicating in their silent spy language that, despite her efforts, Darcy has yet to decipher, then Bucky gives him a slow nod. 

“No,” she says, poking Bucky a fourth time, this time in the stomach. “Don’t give him props for this. He deserves none. He let us languish at the beak of his stupid evil chicken.”

Clint laughs at that. “Foxtrot’s not evil. Just hungry.” He jumps from the loft edge then, flipping once in the air to land lightly beside them. Darcy feels the breath still in Bucky’s body. Hers does too, Clint gorgeous when he moved, his life in the circus and then as a spy instilling within him the grace of his codename.

“Got some feed in the barn,” he begins, brushing the dirt from his knees as he straightens. “We can—” But he stops as he catches sight of them. A beat passes then a cocky little smirk appears on his face. “That was pretty hot, wasn’t it?” 

“Meh,” Darcy says.

“Five out of ten,” Bucky adds.

Clint huffs out an indignant sigh and crosses his arms across his chest. Darcy’s eyes drop straight to them, and Bucky’s must too, for the indignation fades from Clint’s face and the smirk returns. “Right,” he drawls as he ambles toward them. He twirls his hat in his hands. “A five out of ten.”

Bucky twists in Darcy’s arms until he faces Clint. “Maybe a six,” he says, looping his right arm around Darcy and drawing her in close.

Darcy matches Clint’s smirk. “And a half. Six and a half. Could’ve been a seven if you’d worn the hat.”

Now Clint gives a slow nod as he gaze slides between them. He draws his bottom lip between his teeth a moment, casts each of them another look, and then dons the hat with a smooth flourish that nearly makes Darcy moan. “How about this,” he says, grinning at them both. “You make it an eight, and I’ll keep the hat on when we take this inside.”

Darcy tilts her head to look at Bucky. He glances down at her, and the flush to his face makes her glad that she and Clint approached him all those months ago. Especially when, his hand hidden beneath her hair, he taps her twice on the neck with his thumb. She traces out a small circle at the small of his back, their code for yes, then she watches as he turns to Clint and says, laughing, “A two.”

“And a half,” she adds as they both turn and sprint for the house, Clint hot on their heels.

*


End file.
